


Toast

by collectingstories



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: And some dead guys, F/M, Fluff, It's all about a toaster, Reader-Insert, cause ya know, frank - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 10:37:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17201912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collectingstories/pseuds/collectingstories
Summary: Based on a prompt I got from Tumblr: It was goofy and basically Frank used the toaster for something in his adventures. Then when the reader wakes up she just wants toast and is just sleepy and ‘why am I being punished?’ If you don’t want to, now worries It popped into my head when I was half asleep





	Toast

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written Frank Castle before but I do love him.

There was a voice in your head telling you that you should be thankful. That you just had the third near death experience in a couple of months and if it wasn’t for the man standing in your living room you would be dead. You also wouldn’t keep having these near-death experiences but you were certain you’d rather put up with him then be safe. Which was itself a scary thought. But you were alive, which was a bonus, except there were bullet holes tearing up your kitchen and two men were lying dead in your hallway and the toaster that you’d saved up for was bashed in and covered with blood. 

“You couldn’t have used the skillet?” You called.

“What?” Frank shouted, walking down the hall. His boots were heavy on the hardwood. He appeared in the doorway, running a hand over his cropped hair, the bruises on his face from a rather unexpected scuffle looked harsher without his hat on, in the floursent light of your kitchen. 

“Did it have to be the toaster?” You muttered, kicking the offending appliance with your foot. It was bent almost in half, lying at the edge of your kitchenette, smeared with blood. Specifically smeared with the blood of the man laying dead beside it. 

The aforementioned man was laying in a way that you couldn’t open the oven door and the toaster was most definitely “kaput”, as your grandmother would say. 

“I’m sorry, I ain’t hearin’ ya in here complainin’ right?” Frank asked, though the grin on his face betrayed the attempt to sound cross with you.

“Me? Complain? Never.” You replied, glancing down at the dead body once more. “But I just want you to know I’m getting Matt on speed dial so the next time this happens I won’t have to explain dead people to the police.” 

“Ya know I just saved your life mama,” he sassed. 

And technically he was right. Frank had just saved your life. Because you had disregarded his request to ‘keep a low profile’ and ended up on the hitlist of some of New York’s Most Wanted. 

“Yeah well-” You bit your tongue to stop the next words out of your mouth but you both knew what you were about to say. And not because you meant it, simply because you were annoyed and you had a tendency to say things you didn’t mean when you wanted to bother people. Things like ‘yeah well whose fault is it that my life was in danger’. It was an unintentional slip that you stopped from coming out but Frank still knew what the next words in that sentence were going to be. “Thanks.” You tried lamely to save the conversation but you couldn’t. 

“You should get out before the police get here.” He replied, holstering one of his guns and not bothering to look at you. 

Great, you’d managed to hurt the feelings of the one person you actually cared about. You took his advice though, grabbing your phone. “I didn’t mean-” you started but then paused, knowing he didn’t want to hear some foolish excuse about how you didn’t mean what you had stopped yourself from saying. You headed out of the of house, taking the stairs when you heard the sound of sirens outside the building. You knew you didn’t have to worry about the police and Frank but it didn’t stop you.

-

It was two weeks, countless interviews, and finally an all-clear from crime scene clean-up before you were allowed back into your apartment. Everything was back to ‘almost normal’ sans the toaster that Frank bashed over a man’s head. Which wasn’t so bad, toasters weren’t exactly expensive but you worked more than you were home and when you weren’t working you were doing questionable favors for Frank (well, not ones he asked you to do) so you didn’t exactly have time to replace the beloved appliance. 

Sleeping in your place still had you rattled but you didn’t have anywhere else to go so you sucked it up and headed for home after a particularly long day at work. You were greeted the same way you usually were, the only difference being the new toaster sitting on your kitchen counter.

“Frank?” You called, recognizing the pair of boots by the sofa. When you didn’t get an answer you headed further into the apartment (if that was truly possible given the size). You kicked off your shoes and left your coat and bag over the sofa as you did, heading in the direction of your closed bedroom door. Pushing the door open you were met with the sight of Frank reclining on your bed with the dog, eating a plate of toast. “Make yourself at home.”

“I should, I’m here more than you are.” He teased, taking another bite. 

You changed, not bothering with shyness or modesty as you pulled on a pair of shorts and a very small shirt. It was purposely cropped though Frank had told you it looked like you robbed a child of their pajamas. Speaking of, you took a moment to glance his way as he pet your dog, noting the clearness of his skin, no fresh bruises was always a plus for you. It made you feel like maybe he wasn’t always in such imminent danger. 

“Thank you.” You finally said when he looked over and caught you watching him. 

“What for?” He asked.

You walked around the bed, his eyes following you the entire time, and climbed onto the space next to him. He reached his arm out, letting you tuck yourself against your side as he draped his arm over your shoulders and kissed the side of your head. 

“For the toaster…and you know, generally just…not letting me die.” 

“It’s alright mama, I wanted some toast anyway.” He shrugged. 

“Frank.” You jabbed his side gently. When he smiled and continued eating you leaned closer, placing your hand on his cheek and turning his head to face you. He raised an eyebrow at you questioningly. “I mean it, thank you.”

He leaned forward and kissed you, the faint taste of grape jelly on his lips. “I told ya, It’s alright.”


End file.
